


State Of Insanity [Ver 2.0]

by tricksterity



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dancer Stiles, M/M, Rewrite, Steter - Freeform, thats technically an accurate tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-09
Updated: 2014-07-09
Packaged: 2018-02-08 03:27:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1925007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tricksterity/pseuds/tricksterity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The pack want to go out clubbing, and are determined to teach Stiles how to dance. What they don't know is that he's a better dancer than any of them think.</p><p>(A rewrite of my popular fic by the same name, changed to be Peter/Stiles as opposed to Derek/Stiles, with very few changes made from the original fic, because I adore Peter/Stiles and I'm kind of over Derek/Stiles.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	State Of Insanity [Ver 2.0]

**Author's Note:**

> Good songs to listen to while reading this are: Calling From Above - Bassnectar, Flesh - Simon Curtis, Maximal Crazy - DJ Tiesto

Stiles had always been awkward and clumsy, since probably when he came out of the womb. It had taken him longer to walk than most children, and even then he was tripping over his own feet – something he still did multiple times a day. It seemed that he could never do anything with even slight grace, in any aspect of his life. He was always on the bench for lacrosse, seeing as if he ever got onto the field, he wouldn’t even be able to pick up the ball with his jerky movements. It didn’t help that his ADHD made him even more jittery and clumsy than usual – he always had to do lots of fast, crazy and intricate movements because that was just the way he was.

His mother had found it adorable, and when she was alive they would always go on walks around the town in the weekends; he’d trip up at least twice every five minutes and they’d laugh it off. But now that she was gone, it seemed like he just couldn’t do anything right, even moving. He was clumsy in lacrosse, he could hardly walk through the crowded hallways at school, he tripped up daily in front of everyone in the cafeteria and he didn’t even attempt any sport that involved lots of running. Stiles felt useless and clumsy, except during pack business. 

Whenever there was a new threat in Beacon Hills, it didn’t matter that he was awkward and talkative and loud because he had his mind, and unlike Scott, he could use it. He felt good when he came up with plans, when he figured things out, when people listened to his advice and when he did something stupidly reckless to save lives and ended up saving the day. However, Stiles wasn’t clumsy in every aspect of his life, as everyone assumed.

When Stiles had turned eight, his mother decided that he needed some way to get rid of all the extra energy that was bouncing relentlessly through his system; she didn’t like him taking his Adderall so much, she wasn’t really all that fond of pills and medicine – now Stiles knew why. So she enrolled him into hip-hop classes in a small dance studio at the very edge of Beacon Hills; luckily no one who knew him ever went there. As soon as the beaty, pulsing music started and the teacher taught them a few basic moves – it was there. 

Stiles found his rhythm. 

It was shocking to both him, his teacher and the other students in his class how well he could dance, how well he memorized the moves and how much he felt it in him. His mother came to watch on occasion and nearly cried when she saw him doing something he was finally good at. So Stiles kept at the hip-hop classes for five years, getting better and moving up the classes. He loved it, he loved how it made him feel and he loved that no one could believe that the skinny white boy had so much rhythm inside of him, when he popped and locked (and occasionally gyrated), he felt… confident. Sometimes that confidence would come out during his everyday life at school, but usually that was mixed with recklessness and a mouth that wouldn’t stop.

Then his mother died, and everything changed. 

He couldn’t bear to go back to the classes, he couldn’t even go near there, when he knew that it was his mother who dropped him off and picked him up every day from the studio, his mother who would sometimes watch and reward him with curly fries while telling him how proud she was. It was their own little secret – they both told the Sheriff that he was alright, he wasn’t too bad but he wasn’t the best by far; Stiles thought it was true though – he knew he was a good dancer, but he wasn’t _amazing_. He had a long way to go, and it was just something he enjoyed. 

Sometimes, however, on days that he really missed his mother and his father was out at work, Stiles would pump up some trance music and dance to his heart’s content, locked securely in his bedroom with the curtains closed. It was his secret with his mother, and his alone. No one else was going to know, or so he thought. He was completely unprepared for when Allison and Lydia approached him after a pack meeting and told him that they were bringing him clubbing that night.

“No, no way I am not doing clubbing – have you seen me in daily life? What makes you think that I can dance?” Stiles sputtered, desperately waving his arms out as if demonstrating his awkwardness. Allison and Lydia giggled.

“Stiles, we’re all going – even Peter! It’s a pack night out, and you have to come,” Allison pleaded, and Lydia gave Stiles her puppy-dog eyes that she’d become so good at doing hanging around wolves all day. It didn’t help that she still held a special place in Stiles’ heart, even though he knew that she was with Jackson now and he never even had a chance in hell (or heaven) with her. 

“Look, I’m not like you guys, okay! Erica and Isaac and Jackson are amazing dancers – and trust me, that little threesome rendezvous a couple years ago was something to witness. You two are both attractive girls, of course you know how to dance, Danny – well, we already know he can dance. Boyd… I can’t imagine dancing, but he’s a werewolf, so he can probably pull it off. Honestly Derek’s just going to sit in the corner and brood all night, but the point still stands! I am not dancing,” Stiles said, crossing his arms over his chest. He hoped that his rant would convince the girls, but instead their grins just got wider.

“Then we’ll teach you how to dance, idiot,” Lydia said with a small eye-roll that she’d gotten off Derek. 

“No. Nope. I’ll break my legs if I have to, and then I physically wouldn’t be able to dance,” Stiles bluffed, and hoped that the girls would trust his normal recklessness and just give it up already. 

“You’re lying,” a familiar voice said from behind him, and Stiles groaned.

“Seriously, Peter? You too? Is everyone in on this?” Stiles asked, and Peter gave him a genuine smile that had become much more prominent in recent years. “Do you want me to do massive injury to yourself and everyone else on the dance floor? Where did this idea come from anyway?” Stiles asked, and Erica and Isaac peeked their heads around the corners with sheepish expressions on their faces – the two pups of the pack. “I should’ve known,” Stiles said with a shake of his head. “You two are the bane of my existence,” he complained. 

“I thought I was your favourite,” Isaac pouted.

“And where would you get that idea?” Stiles asked.

“…You told me last week,” Isaac said, and Erica let out a laugh. “It’s true! We came back from morning training and you said that I was your favourite!” the pup said adamantly.

“I’m wounded Stiles, I thought I was your favourite,” Scott said as he came around the corner with Boyd and joined everyone in the lounge. He immediately linked hands with Allison who rested her head on his shoulder – four years and they were still acting like newlyweds.

“Actually, I was under the impression that I was your favourite,” Peter teased as he came up next to Stiles and slung an arm around his shoulders, and the human groaned.

“Are you kidding me? Isaac – you are the most adorable. Scott – you’re the most annoying. Peter – you’re the hottest. Anyone else in requirement of the Stiles Stilinski Awards of Awesomeness and Other Things?” Stiles said, really hoping that no one put their hands up, and smiled. 

“Good. Well I’ll give myself an award – worst dancer on the planet. Give it up, I am not going,” Stiles said. He was determined to keep his mother’s secret, even among his new family (and his old: his father, Chris Argent and Melissa McCall still came around every Sunday for pack barbecues). 

“Stiles, you are going to come clubbing with us, or Peter will revoke all sex rights for a month,” Erica said stubbornly. “Actually, you know what, he’s going to revoke all rights any further than casual touching – that includes cuddling on the sofa, puppy piles and sleeping in the same bed,” she continued, and smirked at the growing look of horror on Stiles’ face.

“No! You wouldn’t do that – would you?” Stiles asked, looking up at his favourite creeperwolf. Peter had a detached expression on his face with just a raised eyebrow that reminded him so much of when they’d first met, and Stiles blanched.

“Okay! Okay, fine, I’ll freaking go, Jesus,” Stiles gave in, and everyone punched the air and laughed. He had a feeling he was going to regret this… but it was fine, he’d just pretend to be terrible no matter what pointers Allison or Lydia or Erica or anyone gave him.

“Great, I’ll go pick up Jackson and Danny and we’ll be there in two hours. Everyone get changed – Allison, help Stiles get some clubbing clothes would you? He can’t go in a hoodie again,” Lydia said, side-eyeing Stiles who scowled. Allison immediately dragged Stiles upstairs to Boyd-and-occasionally-Danny’s room and slammed the door behind her.

“Allison, please don’t make me do this,” Stiles pleaded, but when Allison turned back to him her face was set in a determined smirk, and he knew that he wasn’t getting out of this easily. 

Two hours later, everyone was downstairs and waiting on Allison and Stiles, Derek crossing his arms impatiently. The girls had all decided to wear their shortest dresses and their highest heels, and Isaac couldn’t keep his eyes off Erica’s legs, who was sending him knowing smirks. They had a casual thing going on, but they’d always had that, since they were the first two wolves that joined Peter’s pack after he became Alpha. Boyd was also pretty close to the both of them, and Stiles wouldn’t be surprised if they all got over themselves and actually got together.

“C’mon, hurry up,” Jackson called out.

“Calm down lizardboy! We’re-a comin’,” Stiles’ voice rang down the hallway, and Jackson rolled his eyes. He’d been a werewolf for three years and they still teased him for being the Kanima. At least he never grew wings. Allison hurried down the stairs surprisingly fast in her heels, wearing a little dark blue dress with a sequined pattern up one side that Lydia had bought her for her previous birthday. Scott grabbed her and kissed her chastely on the mouth, and she grinned. 

“Ugh, I cannot believe you are making me wear this, I hate you so much, Argent,” Stiles said as he came down the stairs to join the others. Allison had forced him into black skinny jeans that he had to lie down to get on, a tight dark grey t-shirt with some brand on the front that was probably a rival of Ed Hardy, a leather cuff around each wrist (one of which looked suspiciously like a collar, but Stiles wasn’t going to question that) and a pair of matte cherry red Doc Martens that were done up loosely to make room for his jeans. 

His hair that he’d grown out slightly (no longer that buzzcut that he kept for so long) was styled as “that sexy disheveled look you get when you come downstairs in the morning after you and Peter have been going at it all night,” as Allison so aptly described it. Everyone was looking at Stiles in what seemed like shock, and Lydia and Erica gave high-fives to Allison while looking thoroughly impressed. Peter was smirking very obviously, and the look in his eye was _very_ familiar. 

“Stiles, you look great,” Danny said, and Stiles grinned. It had been two years ago that Danny had joined the pack, but he’d known much earlier than that, he’d pieced it together with Lydia, and then asked to get the bite that Derek gladly gave. 

“Thanks, now can we please go and get this over with?” Stiles asked, and the pack quickly headed out to their respective cars – Stiles’ Jeep, Derek’s Camaro (which Boyd now had second ownership of, although he maintained that he loved his Zamboni more), and Jacksons’ Porsche. Peter, Scott and Allison came with Stiles in the jeep, and Allison put in a trance CD to ‘get them pumped up’ on their way to the club. Stiles couldn’t help but bob his head slightly in time to the music. The trip was quick, way too quick in Stiles’ opinion, and they were the last car to arrive.

“Are you sure it’s safe for Jackson to be here? I mean the last times he was at a club he paralyzed Danny and then had a three-way grind-fest with Erica and Isaac which ended with more murders,” Stiles said as they approached the entrance, and Jackson whacked him on the back of the head.

“Watch it, Stilinski,” Jackson growled, and Stiles laughed.

“Itty bitty omega can’t take a joke?” Stiles teased, and Jackson glared at Stiles so hard he thought that holes would start to be bored through his skull. Stiles raised his hands in the universal symbol of surrender and Jackson backed off. Danny, the second omega, laughed and cuffed Jackson around the head.

“Get used to it dude, they aren’t stopping any time soon,” he said, and they all entered the club.

Immediately all of Stiles’ senses were hit with the music – trance and techno rolled into one with a hypnotizing and bassy beat, going up and down with every note. Stiles recognized the beginnings of a slow build-up to the drop, one of those build-ups that would take minutes, raising tensions until you truly couldn’t take it any more, like you were standing on the edge of a cliff and then suddenly it released you, and you fell with the rest of the crowd, mindless and focused on nothing but the hot, moving bodies around you and the music pulsing through your soul. It rushed through him for a split second, the impact nearly sending him stumbling back into Peter, the sheer rush of energy and power and Stiles wondered if maybe that was how it always felt to be a werewolf. 

“This is awesome!” Scott yelled over the music, and Stiles noticed that smiles were slowly creeping up on the faces of all the wolves – even Derek’s. They were all teenagers (minus Peter and Derek), and the fact that the entire pack was going out clubbing, together, losing their minds and having fun was probably the most intense bonding experiences there was. Minus group orgies of course. 

“Well we’ve gotta get a drink first, come on,” Lydia ordered, weirdly being the alpha female of the pack despite the fact that she wasn’t even a wolf, and the rag-tag group of ten pushed their way to the bar. Jackson ordered a round of shots on his tab – obviously he’d have a tab – and they tipped them all back together. Stiles felt the alcohol sting it’s way down his throat, and he didn’t even know what it was, but he could already feel himself loosening up.

“What the hell is that?” Stiles asked.

“50% vodka,” Jackson answered, and of course, that cleared up everything. Stiles was never accepting another drink from the omega again. Jackson, Danny and Boyd headed off into the crowd somewhere, and Erica and Isaac followed after sending quick winks to Stiles, who rolled his eyes. Those two were trouble. Allison and Lydia were still determined to ‘teach’ Stiles how to dance, so they sent Scott after them, promising to join them later. 

Derek obviously wasn’t going to dance, so he remained by the bar to keep an eye on his pack, and Allison and Lydia dragged Stiles into the crowd after another shot of something (thankfully) less strong. Peter stood by the bar with Derek but sent a wink off as Stiles was dragged away. As Stiles headed through the moving, sweaty bodies, his memories of dancing started to come back, especially the few friends he made there years ago and how they would always be so comfortable dancing so close to each other without really knowing one another. It was so familiar that Stiles could feel his resolve to not dance slip away, but it was still there, hanging on with just a thread. 

“Okay Stiles, listen up!” Lydia said. She was standing in front of him, and Allison was behind him, her chin resting on her shoulder, looking at Lydia. “When you’re clubbing, it doesn’t matter if you’re straight, gay, asexual or attracted to giant inflatable balloons, you don’t feel awkward about dancing with anyone. Everyone loses their gender here, and it’s just bodies and moving – if a guy dances behind you just go with it, alright?” Lydia said, and Stiles frowned.

“I’m having sex with Peter nightly and you think I have hang ups about dancing with people of the male gender?” Stiles asked.

“Honestly I’ve always thought you to be Peter-sexual, so I was just clearing it up,” Lydia explained with an eye-roll. Stiles nodded for her to continue.

“You’ve got to feel the music, and don’t feel like an idiot. I know you’re worried about looking clumsy and awkward, but trust me, after a while you kind of just lose yourself, and nothing else matters. Just go with the music, find the underlying beat and go with it. Move your hips and put your hands up, or if you’re with someone like this,” Lydia said, bringing Allison around and putting her hands on her hips as Allison’s hands immediately went around Lydia’s neck, “you hold them like this. Or alternatively if you’re dancing with the person behind you,” Lydia said as she turned around and pressed her back right up against Allison’s chest; Allison’s hands gripped her hips, and Lydia placed her hands on top of Allison’s, “you dance like this. Those are the basics, got it?” Lydia asked, and Stiles nodded. “Then let’s try this out,” Lydia said. 

For about twenty minutes, Stiles danced as awkwardly as possible, just to see Lydia and Allison get annoyed and laugh at how bad he was. They kept trying to help and give him pointers, but he kept jabbing them with his elbows ‘accidentally’ to reinforce the point that he was a terrible dancer. Eventually they just gave up and said that they were going to find the rest of the pack. Stiles nodded and said he was going to join Peter at the bar, but he just sunk deeper into the crowd when the girls had disappeared. He scanned the crowd to make sure that none of the pack were there, and then he let go.

The music filled him up, the beat sinking down into his bones and the notes felt like they were electrocuting him constantly, but in a good way. An electricity that he hadn’t truly felt for years, yet he found it pressed up against complete strangers in a club that he shouldn’t probably be at alone. He raised his arms up, letting the bodies press in around him as he closed his eyes and moved, his hips moving smoothly, using the people around him to guide him as the music built up to a crescendo and when they finally fell off that ledge, he had surrendered completely to the music. 

It felt so good, so _right_ , so absolutely amazing that he didn’t care who saw him now, he just wanted to dance until his feet wore away into stubs, and then just keep on dancing. It had been a part of him; something between his mother and him, one of the only connections they still had and no matter what happened it always seemed to weave back into his life. It felt like every single atom of his body and soul was reaching out in all directions, soaking up the atmosphere and injecting it straight into his bloodstream.

Stiles lost all idea of time, he had fully tranced out and felt bodies in every direction, moving against him and by him and he felt at _home_. Time was relative, and the cascade of thoughts that were usually running rampant through his head had stilled, only the thump of the music pounding through his consciousness. He was only dragged out of this, albeit slightly, by the feeling of a hard body behind him and hands gripping his hips that was all to familiar; he’d recognize it even in his current state of mind. One of his hands automatically reached back and hooked behind the neck of the person behind him and a smile stretched across Stiles’ lips. The person behind them tipped their head and scraped their teeth along Stiles’ bared neck as they moved against each other hypnotically. Stiles hummed and threaded his fingers through thick hair that he knew to be black.

“You have no idea how delectable you look, Little Red,” Peter growled in his ear, and Stiles finally opened his eyes and looked up to the burning blue eyes of his lover.

“To everyone, or are you just biased?” Stiles said quietly, under his breath, knowing that Peter would be able to hear him.

“Everyone,” Peter said. “You’ve been out of it for so long you haven’t noticed all the stares coming your way, the pheromones of everyone around you thick in the air like a fucking cloud, and you’re right in the middle of it. We noticed, Stiles.” Stiles lowered his eyes to the crowd and saw the rest of the pack surrounding him, looking impressed, awed and very shocked – Scott had that ridiculous gob smacked expression on his face, the same one from that day when Stiles scored his first goal in lacrosse. 

“I wasn’t intending on letting you notice, but I’ll let it slide for now,” Stiles said almost breathlessly, and he didn’t miss the way Peter’s hands tightened on his hips, similar to the way they did at night in their bed. “I just wanna dance,” Stiles murmured as Peter pressed a hard kiss to his lips and the rest of the pack descended around them. Familiar bodies of his friends, his family, his pack pressed in around him and he smiled and once again lost himself to the trance-like insanity that came with the music, Peter a constant heat behind him. 

It was hours before the pack finally dragged him out of the club and into the cool night air, the exhilaration, adrenalin and peace that came from dancing still with him as they all gathered in an alleyway. Stiles noticed that the sky was a lightening shade of blue, and peered at his phone and saw that it was just past 4 a.m.

“Stiles, you didn’t tell us you could dance!” Scott exclaimed, seeming betrayed.

“You didn’t tell us you could dance like _that_ ,” Erica smirked. “If I knew that you could do that pre-bite I would’ve been on you in a heartbeat. I still would, if I didn’t want the wrath of the zombiewolf upon my head,” she said with a twinkle in her eyes.

“I can’t believe you let us think that you couldn’t dance! I was convinced that you were a lost cause!” Lydia yelled, annoyed, and even Jackson still looked shocked.

“Where the hell did you learn to do that?” she asked. Stiles shrugged.

“I’ve always been able to dance, but I just didn’t tell people. Mom took me to the studio at the edge of town when I was eight and I just kept going, it’s the only thing I’m really good at, and I don’t fall over when I do it. I’m not _that_ good though, is it really that much of a shock?” Stiles asked.

“Stiles,” Isaac said seriously. “Everyone within a five meter radius of you the entire night was giving off enough pheromones that I nearly got an awkward boner behind Jackson,” he said, and Erica laughed loudly.

“Seriously, we need to go out more often because I _need_ to see more of that,” Allison said, and Stiles bit his lip awkwardly. It was his mother’s secret, him and his Mom… but maybe it was time to move on, to stop clinging to tightly to the past and to let the pack in on one of the parts of himself he held dearest.

“…Alright, fine. We’ll go clubbing more often,” Stiles said, and everyone cheered. On the way back to the cars, Peter grabbed Stiles and pulled him against his chest, and Stiles waggled his eyebrows.

“Getting a bit grabby, creeperwolf,” he teased.

“We are _definitely_ doing that again,” Peter said with a dark, intense look that Stiles knew all too well, and grinned back. Stiles pulled Peter back to the jeep, intent to head back home and into their soundproof bedroom (at the request of the pups). Just before they got in, Peter leant down and whispered in his ear, “By the way, Erica was lying. I couldn’t go a day without touching you,” he confessed, and Stiles grinned.

“You too, you’re my favourite,” Stiles said as he got into the driver’s seat, and he heard Isaac protest from the Camaro, and Stiles laughed. Yes, he was definitely home.

**Author's Note:**

> **> >> Fanfiction commissions are open! If you liked my writing and you're interested in me writing something for you, click [HERE](http://tricksterity.tumblr.com/post/140544637431) for more information! **


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